


Glittering

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 12:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Wade sulks, Nate tries to knock sense into him, everybody gets a happy ending.





	Glittering

**Author's Note:**

> This is all thanks to Iintangible.

They’ve been cohabitating just long enough to have figured out what pricks they are. How well they can get on one another’s nerves, how sharply they can stab each other. It’s been an interesting set of days, feeling each other out – just in the psychological way, not in any fun ways – and Wade is about sick of it.

Sick of the tension, aggressive and sexual, and sick of the way Nate won’t let them just work it out like grown men with anger issues and a hearty capacity for violence.

Wade comes home with a bag of soon-to-be-thawed frozen burritos (the freezer doesn’t work, and he can’t be assed to replace it just yet. Cable, the freeloader, just keeps beer in what is essentially a chilly cupboard.) and an off brand variety of Bugles. He’s got some cherry ChapStick in there too, but he bought it on impulse, thinking of Ness and Nate in a weird conflicting way that made him uneasy and unhappy, and he’d probably just throw it away.

Nate is sitting in the kitchenette at the counter, eating a sandwich. Wade barely looks at him, passing him by to throw his bag of goodies into the busted freezer, on top of Nate’s beer (take that) and moves to go veg in front of what would be a TV once Wade remembered to buy one.

"You’ve been sulking a lot lately," the taller man says.

It's strange, the way he seems to always smell like oil and mentholated lip balm. Wade can smell him from across the room, and doesn't need to meet those heated eyes to know he's being glared at. No doubt the other man would like to see a little fear from him but _shocker_ he’s not afraid at all.

"Hello," Wade replies, moving to flop down on the well broken in couch as if Cable is of no concern to him. "I’m pretty sure my pity parties are nonna your business." He pauses, long enough for Nate's thin lips to curl into an ugly sneer, but not long enough for him to form a response. "Go away." he suggests, flapping his hand at Nate.

A low growl of a laugh from the larger man, head angled back. He's all rugged white boy good looks, complete with fuckboy haircut, and the metal spreading across his body that makes his heroic appellation so suiting. He hauls himself to his feet and stalks towards Wade. "'Go away,' or what? You gonna kick me out?"

  
"I’ll kick _something_." Wade promises. “Right now I’m thinking your balls, but we’ll see how your stance ends up.”   
  
Close up, the smell of oil and menthol is pungent, and Wade can detect the faint medical ping of ointment. Does Cable use Icy-Hot? It smells like he uses Icy-Hot. Ha. He’s so old. And yet he’s totally got that silver fox thing going on.

He laughs as Nate crosses his arms over his chest and glares down at him, wondering if Icy-Hot can be used as lube. He knows exactly what kind of story this is, and he’s prepared to try anything.  
  
"D'you think this’s funny, is that it?" The words growl just enough to cinch the future, and of course life thus far has taught Wade that no part of the future can be _cinched,_ that something stupid will always happen to shove things forward, a sick windup toy that spins out of control and can’t be stopped without pain, so you just have to follow it through to the end. Fine, then. Wade will follow through to the end.

But seeing it through doesn't mean bowing his head. When, after all, has he ever? He pushes up from the couch, knowing there’s not enough room for both of them in the little space between the ‘coffee table’ (an overturned cardboard box) and couch. “If I say yes, do I get spanked for being naughty?”

Nate shoves him roughly, then swipes at his face with a hard metal fist. Wade ducks, shoves back with his shoulder in Nate's chest, and if there were any illusions remaining that this could remain halfway civil, they are dashed right then and there.

They spill back into the room, carefully dodging the coffee table at first. Nate swings heavy punches at Wade's head, as if the rest of him isn't worth it, but most of them don’t land; Wade knows how to dodge even when he’s laughing fit to split, whatever the fuck that means. He puts as much distance between them as he can, focusing on blocking each punch: Nate is a hard-hitter, but he can't last long in a fight, especially compared to Wade. His heart just isn’t in it the way Wade’s is, for one thing, and for another, he’s not got a healing factor. Just a few more seconds and he'll be more than open enough for Wade to strike.

Nate drives his knee into Wade's stomach and he coughs out all his breath, pain exploding through his gut; before Nate can smash the back of Wade's head with his elbow, Wade slips away, snaps back into control, wills the pain into the back of his mind where it can wait. He ducks underneath Nate's next punch and uppercuts him so that the crack of the taller man's teeth rings in the room. He finishes the momentum of the movement by kicking Nate's legs out from under him, and Nate crashes down, fall broken by the cardboard coffee table; Wade laughs gleefully as he crouches and aims a punch at Nate’s solar plexus, but despite the pain he's clearly in, Nate grabs Wade's fist before it can land and twists, snaps the delicate bones.

What little refinement there was saps from the fight. Nate doesn't let Wade gain his footing again, one hand at his throat. They grapple, Nate's weight against Wade's more wiry strength. Nate manages to elbow Wade's nose and blood drips from it, metallic and hot. But Wade’s rabbit-quick breath is light with laughter and mockery, though he barely has time to crack any jokes at all. 

He is going to win this one. He has more to lose, and Nate needs this to remind him.

Nate sinks his teeth into Wade's forearm, and Wade shouts out – more in anger than in pain, and he cracks his knuckles across Nate's face, twice in rapid succession. The second one opens a wound on that gaunt cheek, which starts to bleed, sluggishly, onto the floor. Nate tries to slam his knee into Wade's back. Grunts angrily when he doesn't, twists one hand in Wade's collar and, rather than fight it, Wade uses the force of Nate's yanking to headbutt him. His grip slackens enough for Wade to flip him onto his stomach and to straddle him, one hand on the back of his neck, the other pulling back an arm.

Nate lets out a stream of cusswords, scrabbles at the floor with his Techno-Organic hand – Wade jerks his other arm back far enough for the muscles to protest and something pops. Suddenly, sharp pain lances up his calf, and Wade hisses and looks down – there are metal fingers dug with agonizing precision in between the two main muscle groups of his thigh, painful even through the fabric of his pants. It hurts, sure, but there’s something kinky about it too, about the power in those hands and the precise way it’s applied.

Nate throws Wade off him, snarling horribly, more animal than human, and this time he's on top, transmuting the vicious aggression into sexual aggression with a violent, rhythmic thrusting of his hips against Wade's. It's not unwelcome, or not more unwelcome than anything Nate does, but Wade still struggles against him, twists against him and bites the hand that had gripped him. Nate backhands him.

"Fuckin' _cunt_ ," he snarls, "you stupid fucking," blood dripping down his face, all over the carpet, all over Wade, and Wade musters half the strength in his body and throws Nate off over his head. His body makes a satisfying thud on the dingy carpet, and Wade launches at him, pins him again, always on the stomach, and this time he bites Nate's neck, leaves uneven pinpoint marks where his teeth have been, not drawing blood though he could, he could so very easily. Nate groans.

It's a little disturbing, Wade thinks in the part of his mind that's detached from this, that he's so aroused by this. That both of them are. Disturbing that two guys who are capable of being so whip smart and clever can be reduced down to this: Hunt. Fuck. Kill. His teeth tear into Nate's shoulder, his hands force down Nate's pants, and the larger man swears violently at that, thrashing as the garment tangles around his knees.   
  
"Don't even _try it._ "

"I’m not gonna _try_ anything," Wade murmurs, pleased at how composed he sounds even as he struggles to keep his hold on Nate. He sacrifices one hand so he has the pleasure of fondling Nate's exposed genitals, and smiles at his thickening erection. Nate manages to thrash his bulky shoulders hard enough to throw Wade off again, and they roll against the floor again, Nate ruthlessly jerking Wade off with one hand thrust down his pink sweatpants as he hits Wade in the face again, and again, and again.

Wade tears at the wound on Nate’s cheek, and he snarls out his pain and covers Wade's mouth with his, the taste of blood so intense that Wade thinks he might choke on it. The kiss is rough, and Nate nips at first, little pinpricks of pain as he works his teeth over Wade's lips, then he sinks down, grinds his teeth so roughly against Wade that a little noise of pain escapes his throat. That's enough.

No more Mister Nice Guy.

Another flip, and this time The Nate crashes into a side table, knocking over the only lamp they’ve got in the studio flat – it shatters, and Wade hopes blindly that their final position will have Nate's chest in the middle of all that glass, tearing him open and leaving the glittering remnants of Wade's win for days.

He doesn't straddle Nate immediately, goes another, perhaps more dangerous route, and shoves Nate's thighs apart, kneels between them and sucks heavily at the inside of his thighs, laves as noisily as he can until Nate's cock starts to leak. Nate's hand smooths over Wade's scalp, a gentle motion that makes Wade want to vomit, makes him want to purr. He bites, then, sinks his teeth into the muscled flesh of the other's thighs, bites a long trail up to Nate's cock and bares sharp and crooked teeth over the head just to hear Nate say "No, no, for Christ's sake not _there_ , you psychopath."   
  
Wade takes the head into his mouth, sinks down until his nose is buried against the flat plane of Nate's stomach; he scrapes his nails along Nate's thighs, stomach, chest, side, one hand up under his shirt, leaving red marks. He swallows several times before sitting back up and leaving Nate hard, wanting. The fight's gone out of the taller man, his neck exposed, arched with pleasure, his bloody face screwed up in concentration, and when Wade stops he snaps his head back up to bark something at Wade – he doesn't have the time; Wade grabs both his wrists and pins his hands down, sucks on one of Nate's nipples through his shirt before biting on that, too, which makes him hiss out an angry breath.   
  
"Shit," he breathes. "Shit, shit, shit."   
  
Wade bites his neck again, just under his jaw, where the blood has dripped and pooled. He can feel Nate spasm, can feel his come spurting between them.  
  
"Spoils to _me_ ," Wade says merrily, standing, rotating the wrist that the other man had broken earlier. It’s mostly healed now, still bruised and sore, but good enough. "Get up on your knees."

The larger man sits up, his eyes angry and sullen when he glares up at Wade, but sparked with what is definitely interest. Wade wonders what Nate’s refractory period is like, watching as the older man obeys, blood running down his face and collecting on his neck. Wade can see where the bruises will bloom there, love bites taken a little too seriously. Wade knows his own bruises will disappear in a matter of minutes.

In an odd and probably unhealthy way, he cherishes every mark Nate leaves on his body.

Stooping low, he kisses Nate once he’s up on his knees, feeling the sting of pressure to his split lip. His kiss is much gentler than Nate's, more like a kiss than a wound, but when he tries to pull away, rough hands catch the sides of his face, teeth latch on to his lower lip, and he's caught again, pulled back down to drown for a moment as teeth clash and a tongue is shoved in his mouth, consuming.

Wade allows the kiss to continue until his back starts to throb from bending down this way, and then he wrenches away.

“Okay honey, hands behind your back,” he sing-songs, and the other man grits his teeth, glaring as he obeys and Wade fishes in his pockets for, ahh deus ex machina, a zip tie he just happened to have on him.

The plastic, Wade knows from previous experience, feels strange and ugly on the wrists, and he revels in locking it tight. He imagines a fighter like Cable will be able to break loose easily, but hell, it’s the thought that counts, right?

“There,” he says pleasantly, tone as smug as he can make it as he moves back to stand before Nate. “If you’d only left when I asked.”

He hits the Nate hard enough to knock him down, and the heavier man hits the hard floor with a curse, face in the broken glass of the lamp. Hands bound behind him, he can't find his feet fast enough to avoid Wade grabbing him, taking him by one arm and yanking him up. He's heavier, but his struggling is perfunctory and weak, and Wade manages to get him on his feet easily enough.

Dragging the taller man close and leaning up to speak softly in his ear is oddly satisfying. Nate is not used to losing, not used to not getting what he wants, but sometimes disappointment is as arousing as fulfillment, and though he's gritting his teeth and glaring slant-wise back at Wade, his cock is already stiffening again. “You broke the fucking _lamp_ , ya dumb idiot,” Wade informs him, watching blood bead up from a thin cut on the other man’s cheek were the glass had found him. “I'm super tempted to push you down in it 'n fuck you there.”

For all the infuriating calm in his reply, Wade can feel Nate shiver just slightly at that, something in him for a just a moment afraid. “What’re our other options,” is what he says, but in the tiniest hitch of his breath he's really asking _why don't you_ , and Wade bites his own freshly healed lip.

He can feel Nate watching his teeth against his lip, appreciates it.

Why not indeed?

“How about the _bed_ , you masochistic fuck?”


End file.
